


Rainy Day

by Pigeon



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, community:spnspringfling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simply Jeff and Jensen and a wet and rainy day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weimar27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weimar27/gifts).



> Written for the [SPN Spring Fling](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/21556.html) fic challenge for the lovely [Weimar27](http://weimar27.livejournal.com/)

It's late when Jensen wakes.

The rain is a steady woosh-roar-thunder on the roof, and large heavy weight of dog is stretched out across his toes. The room (storm dark, light filtered grey and lazy) is cool and quiet, and he twists to regard the dog sleepily – part St Bernard at least, mottled tan and dark and sprinkles of white. Definitely not Bisou, or Bandit, or any of the other strays he's seen wending around Jeff's feet, dancing and flirting for treats.

He wriggles his toes, feeling the warmth and solidity of the dog pinning them to the bed. The dog heaves a breath but doesn't move, and he lets his eyes fall back shut to lie still and listen to the rain.

The storm does not abate, the rain steady, unrelenting. He thinks of other wet and rainy days - days caught in a sudden squall on the beach, sand thrown up by the wind and sticking sharp and gritty to skin. Days standing on the curbside waiting for his ride, cursing at traffic and shivering with cold.

He shifts slowly, muscles caught in amber, and indolent heat riding low in his belly. Somewhere in the wide sprawl of the house Jeff will be puttering with mortar, and nails, and sheets of ply. He'll be sweaty with work, thin t-shirt worn soft, jeans frayed and ratty at the edges.

Jensen slides from the bed, pausing to rest a quick, gentle hand on the dog's head, before raking up clothes from the floor, sweat pants and an oversized sweater, drawing them on as the cool air prickles his skin into gooseflesh.

The house isn't watertight yet, and pots, and buckets, and saucepans line the stairs catching raindrops. The sound is oddly musical. Low off-key notes, arrhythmic and sharp.

He stumbles down the steps, legs still half asleep and unsteady with movement.

He moves through the unfinished kitchen, unplumbed and stove-less, and down the corridor to the grand entrance. The walls open wide, thin sheets of polythene battered by wind where large picture windows will later stand.

Jeff is stood before a wide expanse of almost-wall, breeze blocks and wall-ties jutting out, spread of valley and green blurs of trees in the distance, sheets of rain rolling across the distance, turning everything dark and succulent. The green of the trees and shrubs and grass is a rich, bitter absinthe tone, the yellow of the dust and dirt thickened to an iodine sludge.

The Spanish tiles beneath Jensen's feet are chilled, and he moves across the room to sit in a wide chair covered in a dustsheet, gathering his legs up to curl beneath him.

"I think the next thing might be to get the roofers up here." Jeff doesn't turn around, hands spread of his hips and leaning slightly forward, body braced into the edge of wind and rain. The cotton of his t-shirt is slowly darkening with moisture, soaking up the dampness in the air.

Jensen hmms in agreement. "For one thing we're running out of buckets." It had been humid when he'd arrived last night, jet-lagged and worn thin and brittle. Jeff had collected him from the airport, braving rush hour traffic, then driving the five hours back to the house with a mix-tape of old Mama Cass and The Byrds songs jammed into the stereo, Jensen dozing beneath a blanket that smelt of dog and weed.

Then he'd been fed thick sandwiches of velveeta and luncheon meat, and sipped at beer half warm from the lack of a refrigerator.

Bed, and slow touches, rough calluses scraping light. Skin and wet kisses and teasing heat, before the quiet pull of sleep.

Jeff looks over his shoulder at him, hint of smile beneath untidy scragg of beard. "Least the bedroom's holding up alright. You sleep okay?"

"Well. Better than I have in a while," he's cut off by a yawn that clicks his jaw, and he scrubs at his eyes. "Not saying I won't have a nap later though," he admits.

Jeff laughs and the room, with its snaking draughts and growing pools of water, feels warmer.

"Shove over." Jeff pushes at his leg and squeezes himself in beside Jensen. There's too little space for the both of them, but with Jensen's hip digging into Jeff's thigh and one of Jensen's feet nestled in close into Jeff's groin they make it work.

Jensen lets one of his hands rest in the centre of Jeff's chest, the heat of flesh half masked by the cool dampness of the t-shirt, and he lets his eyes fall shut as he rests his head on Jeff's shoulder.

Jeff's hands, when they find their way beneath his own clothes, one curving down low on his belly, the other sneaking past the stretched-out collar of his sweater to curl around his neck and shoulder, are cold and he shivers as they steal his warmth. "Shh," Jeff murmurs and he thinks about protesting that he hasn't said anything, but the hands are moving, roaming even as they hold him still and quiet.

"The bed would be warmer, you know. More space too." Jensen turns his face, mouthing lazily at Jeff's collarbone through his t-shirt.

"We've enough space here."

"If you say so."

The rain continues, the polythene stretched over the window voids billowing in the wind, a saucepan catching heavy drops of water overflows, spilling across the floor.

Jensen sighs, his sweatpants slide a little down his hips as Jeff's hand dips lower, exploring and cupping, large blunt fingers turned gentle and insistent. "Shouldn't you be trying to patch up some of the leaks? All that hammering and nailing stuff?"

Jeff huffs a laugh. "That what you want me to be doing right now? Hammering and nailing?"

"Not 'specially," Jensen admits, flexing up harder into Jeff's grip. "And if you make one bad pun about nailing, you'll have nothing but the dogs to keep you warm, I swear."

"Sweetheart," Jeff twists his grip on Jensen suddenly, hauling him up into his lap, one hand braced against the small of his back. "I never even considered it."

"Yeah, tell that one to the jury." Jensen dips down to kiss Jeff warm and wet on the mouth, all sliding lips and shared breath.

Outside the wind howls and shrieks, working itself up into a gale, the clouds rolling dark and thunderous across the sky, and Jensen folds himself down into the steady heat and fire of Jeff's arms.


End file.
